


Hair the Color of Saffron

by ariel2me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-17 23:56:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15472917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: “There are those who say that men are attracted to women who remind them of their mothers.”“You do not remind me of my mother. Not in the least. No two women could be more different, in fact.”“Ahhhh … so you admit that you are attracted to me?” challenged Melisandre.Stannis pretended that he had not heard the question. “You look nothing like my mother, to begin with. And my mother did not believe in the gods, in any god."





	Hair the Color of Saffron

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Adadzio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adadzio/gifts).



> For Bri, a very, very, very belated birthday gift <3

“Your hair … it reminds me of saffron.”

Melisandre raised her eyebrows. “Is this your attempt to pay me a compliment, my king? I am flattered, to be sure, but it is not quite the right shade of red to describe my hair.”

Stannis flushed. “It is  _not_  a compliment. Not at all. Merely an observation. A  _neutral_ observation, that is all it is,” he sputtered, all too insistently, and not very persuasively.  

“Ah. How presumptuous of me, to think that it  _could_  be a compliment,” said Melisandre, her eyes twinkling. “But why saffron? What started you thinking about saffron in the first place?”

“You once asked me if … if I remember ever laughing as a boy.”

“And saffron made you laugh when you were a boy?”

“I remember being shown it for the first time, when I was six. My mother called it hair of the angels. I imagined my mother having hair the color of saffron, and –“

“And that made you laugh?”

Stannis nodded.

Melisandre looked affronted. “Why? Because it’s a thing worth mocking and making japes about, to have hair the color of saffron, or any shade of red?”

“No, not at all,” Stannis hastily replied. “I was not laughing because I thought it was something worth mocking. I was laughing because red hair would have looked so incongruous on my mother, would have made her look like a completely different woman. My mother laughed too, when I told her the reason I was laughing. It was the laughter of shared joy, not of mockery.”

“A completely different woman. I see.”

“What _do_  you see, my lady? And I mean  _you_ , yourself, the woman that you are, not your flame, not your red god.”

“I see that … you still miss your mother dearly.”

“As do you, I’m sure.”

“Now  _that_  is very presumptuous of  _you,_ my king. You know nothing about my mother, and you certainly know nothing about how I feel towards her.”

“I know nothing because you have always refused to tell me anything about your past, about your life before you became a red priestess.”

“The past is often better forgotten than recalled.”

“Forgotten … but not forgiven?”

Melisandre closed her eyes, tightly.  _How could I forgive, without even knowing if there is anything to be forgiven? How could I forget someone I never even remembered in the first place?_ She did not say this to Stannis, however. When she finally opened her eyes, she was smiling, having rearranged her expression to put on an amused look. “I am reminded of something too, my king,” she said, her voice betraying none of the turmoil in her head, in her heart, deep inside her soul.  

“What are you reminded of, my lady?”

“I am reminded of a red priest in Asshai, who had an … interesting … theory about men and their mothers.”

“About men and their mothers?”

“He claimed that every man secretly wishes to kill his father and to bed his mother.”

Stannis’ scoff was almost loud enough to be heard throughout Dragonstone. “Utter nonsense! A complete and utter nonsense.”

“Possibly. Though, I have always been puzzled by the … causality, shall we say.”

“Causality?”

“Does every man wish to kill his father so that he could finally be free to bed his mother, or is it the other way around?”

“The other way around?”

“Does he wish to bed his mother in order to vanquish and then replace his father?”

“What difference does it make? They are both absolutely ridiculous notions, not to mention complete abominations,” Stannis said, with disgust.

“Patricide is not unheard of, my king,” pointed out Melisandre.

“Patricide, yes, but not patricide for the sake of incest, for the sake of unnatural lust for the women who gave birth to us.” Then, as another thought struck him, Stannis asked, with great indignation, “What was it exactly that reminded you of this red priest and his ridiculous theory? Are you implying that I … that my mother … that –“

“No, not at all, my king. I do not interpret the theory in such a literal manner.”

“How  _do_  you interpret it, then?”

 “There are those who say that men are attracted to women who remind them of their mothers.”

“You do not remind me of my mother. Not in the least. No two women could be more different, in fact.”

“Ahhhh … so you admit that you  _are_ attracted to me?” challenged Melisandre.

Stannis pretended that he had not heard the question. “You look nothing like my mother, to begin with. And my mother did not believe in the gods, in  _any_  god. She took part in all the public rituals of the Seven, because she thought that it was her duty as the Lady of Storm’s End to do so. But deep down, she never believed that any god could be appealed to, for guidance, for assistance, for peace of mind. Fate is not the action of the gods, she used to say. Fate is the accumulation of the actions of men and women – sometimes our own actions, sometimes the actions of others, and sometimes a combination of both.”

“Did it not distress your mother, to believe that? To believe that there is no higher power? No higher purpose to our travails and sufferings?” questioned Melisandre.

It would have distressed Melisandre considerably. She could not have survived the pain and suffering of her early years, she believed, without the absolute faith that she was meant for better things, for a greater purpose in this world.  _This_  was what had given her hope, hope that her life would not always be as bleak and desolate, and hope that her life would be her own, one day.

Stannis mulled the question. “It comforted her, I believe, and it gave her hope, hope that life will not always descend into utter chaos and disarray. Men and women could be reasoned with, my mother believed, unlike the gods.”

“And you, my king, what do  _you_  believe?”

“I believe that too many people are just as capricious and as monstrous as the gods, as incapable of being reasoned with as the gods,” replied Stannis, sadly, as if he felt that he had betrayed his mother with this sentiment, this sentiment that he, nonetheless, could not talk himself out of believing.  

“Your mother would not begrudge you your beliefs, I’m sure,” said Melisandre, trying to reassure Stannis, “as long as they are your own, and not merely a pale imitation of others.”

* * *

 A/N: This is a spin-off of [Worth More Than Gold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15449526), another fic of mine involving saffron :D


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